


Sideline

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bondage, Comedy, M/M, Other, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captured by SHIELD, subdued by the Dual Deadlock device that effectively roadblocks his magic, Loki is left at the mercy of Tony Stark's inquisition.<br/>And no one expects the Spanish Inquisition. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sideline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> If you are one of the three people on the internet who have not read this masterpiece, please adjust your seats for awesome and venture over to the wee linky thing. Read it. You will cry as much as I did. And maybe dribble a bit, because that's what sheer OMG does to you. Anyway, below is my poor excuse at GoddamnHella worship. Enjoy.

 

_My plug-in baby,_

_Crucifies my enemies,_

_When I’m tired of living._

_\- Muse._

_***_

“A...t.... ey....”

Someone had said something. Through the haze of sedatives floating leisurely thought his mind, stubbing out thought processes as though they were cigarettes, Loki could have sworn he’d heard a voice. Words. There’d been so many words  _before,_ of course. Conversations. Fury liked conversations; the only problem being that he liked to hear  _himself_ , just as much as anybody else and that didn’t sit so well within an interrogation. After the fiftieth threat SHIELD’s Director had posed - outlining just how  _much_ damage his expert team could do to Loki now that he was both magic and large-angry-thundery-sibling free - the Frost Giant informed his captor that he’d rather have his ears ripped off than have Fury chew on them one more time.

He was, indubitably, quite aware of how much SHIELD and its ornery figurehead could hurt him, yet he suffered the pain - the terrible, intrusive pain - with barely more than a wring of his lips. Let them see how he could prevail. Let them know his strength; let them pour their frustrations into useless acts of torture. He was better than their base brutality and he would parade their viciousness in rows like war medals before he would ever submit.

Yet, after a time, SHIELD’s ministrations finally began to burn, and Loki knew he had to reach for his wild card before Fury either discovered his tell or accidentally killed him; the latter being more probable. Suffering for cause was one thing; dying was another - and of course, not an option for the son of Laufey. If there was anyone who would listen to him with half an ear that wasn’t biased towards his eternal imprisonment - here, or on Asgard - it was Tony Stark.

Likewise, if there was anyone who Loki knew still held the  _slightest_ flame of patience toward him, it was his sometime-lover. So he’d called for Tony - he’d tapped into his lifeline. Fury agreed. Then there was silence. Pain, more drugs, then silence.

Loki shifted as much as he could, given both the restrictions of the thick, padded belts that choked his wrists and ankles - binding his midsection tightly against the bed - and the pain that throbbed throughout his body whenever he so much as  _thought_ of moving. A thin tear of sweat - lukewarm to most, but burning to him - tumbled from his brow, and he closed his eyes against the fluorescent strips above him. Had someone said something? Or was he hallucinating now? It was too hard to tell and his punctured perception wouldn't provide him with much footing. He felt sick, he was hot; the room was far too warm for a Frost Giant and he would curse himself blind that Fury knew just as much. He listened again, ears pricking against white noise, and casually wondered if the heat was actually driving him mad.

Not quite.

“I said, they’re tight, aren’t they,” Tony Stark repeated, moving close enough to the gurney that he might be seen, but remained out of spitting distance. “The restraints,” he added. “They look like they hurt.”

Ah, so he  _had_ accepted the invitation. Loki’s spirits lightened a little, despite himself.

“You came.” He had to admit, he was a little surprised. Of course, if Stark  _hadn’t,_ Fury and SHIELD would continue the process of doing anything and everything they could in order to make him bleat. And he could vouch for it, in fact - the scars and bruises were so fresh, they still teethed on his skin. To offer them something as  _easy_ as intel for Stark’s presence? He should have been more confident. Which he  _was_ , all the way up to part where he had to calculate what Stark might  _do_ , since the last time he’d tried that, it had led to a very unexpected turn of events that had landed him back in Fury’s eager claws. That, and  _only_ that, had rattled Loki to the core. And to think he’d been so certain he could ready Tony like a book - well, a set of schematics.

_No one fools me twice, you treacherous son of a bitch._

“You asked me to.” Tony replied, offering nothing but a poker face of pure, disaffected apathy. “Fury said you’d talk if I was the one holding the question cards. So here I am.”

“I thought-” Loki’s brow puckered with a frown. He wasn’t regretting his decision, but he almost felt as if this wasn’t quite right - as though Tony had arrived too fast. Since Stark had managed to jack knife his plans and effectively pull a “Loki” himself, the Trickster had quickly surmised that Stark was far more Doberman than he was Terrier; teeth and ferociousness could definitely replace the boundless enthusiasm when he had need of them. Tony also didn’t seem terribly bothered by the situation - despite the fact that Loki had pretty much shat on the thin line of trust their relationship had managed to draw. Perhaps their time apart had cooled his acrimony a little? Loki licked his dry lips, trying hard to keep the consternation out of his voice. “I thought you might have considered the offer a little longer.”

“Oh I’m sorry. Are you not ready? Did you want to put some makeup on first?” Tony shot back, his dark eyes narrowed, cold. “Did you want to spruce up your outfit? Maybe add some surgical booties to go with those stylish paper pants.”

“Are you trying to be funny?” Loki said, evenly - watching Tony through the veil of his eyelashes. “This is neither the time nor the place.”

“Well, this is  _my_ line of questioning.” Tony told him, almost,  _almost_ lifting a brow in aloof amusement. He was maddeningly calm. “So I’ll let it run however I like. If you have concerns, just raise your... oh wait.  _Sorry.”_ He smiled now. Not Stark’s smile. “Maybe just wriggle your nose or something.”

“Fine,  _your_ line of query. Yet it is still up to  _me_ as to how I will answer.” Loki shot back, curling his lip into a sneer. He would not stand to be outdone - or lay, as it were. “Perhaps I will make it hard for you.”

“Oh now, that’s quite a choice of words! I didn’t think we’d be playing  _that_ kind of game yet; I only just got here.” Tony stepped closer and stood a hair’s breadth from Loki’s left hand, his arms held casually behind his back, fingers interlocking. “Unless you’ve really just called me here for a that. Is this some kind of bad-taste booty call?”

“You make light of this,” Loki hissed, as the threads in his patience began to show. “You mock me - you mock the efforts I have made to be reasonable!”

“No, I didn’t say that at all,” Tony said, skirting his fingertips over the bonds on Loki’s wrists, tugging on them, skeptically. “Don’t start feeding me words, Loki - I haven’t come to stick the knife in...  _again.”_

Ah, now that sounded more like Stark. Stark combed backwards against the grain, but Stark, nonetheless.

“I shouldn’t think that it bothered you the first time.”

“Like it bothered  _you?”_  Tony snorted. “Now that’s a dead horse to flog, if ever I saw one. Heard one. Whatever. You don’t have your magic - thanks to the Dual Deadlock, thanks to  _me -_  but you’re still pretty strong like this, aren’t you? Stronger than a few belts and straps. I’d hate to think what they’ve been pumping into you to keep you down.”

“That is hardly a concern,” Loki said. “You should spare more thought for the fate of my brother. For the fate of your  _earth_ if news reaches Odin regarding Amora’s treachery-”

“-or for the fact that you might just have sweet-talked Fury into getting me here so I would take pity on you?”

“I would never-!”

“Accept pity? No you wouldn’t. But you’ll pretend to, if you must. You’ll pretty much agree to anything that’ll help laquer your lies, won’t you?” Tony moved his hand, resting it gently on the cooler skin of Loki’s thigh. “You  _do_ look like hell. Did they  _burn_ you?”

Loki’s frown only grew weightier as Tony’s hand lingered, and he drew in a shallow breath. “Of course they did. They were happy to try anything in order to entice my tongue. Scorching my skin is the very least of their attentions.”

“I’d offer my sympathies, but then that’d pretty much be playing into your hand, wouldn’t it?” Tony replied, sliding his fingers up Loki’s lukewarm skin to his middle, hovering over a wide bandage that had been taped to his stomach. “Anyway, I think this is the worst one, right? This one’s the doozy. Feels warm, Loki - you’re supposed to be cold all over, right? Maybe it’s infected... Do you get sick? I hope not - I can’t see Fury bringing you chicken soup...”

“You prattle!”

“I do. It’s part of this thing called irony, you see. ‘Cos when you stabbed me, you did it in order to throw my team off my scent and the fact that I set you free for my own benefit. And that was all nicely woven into the tapestry of your plans. But now I’ve stabbed  _you_ and turned all of your fun-flavoured plans totally on their head. So what does that tell us?”

Loki simply gaped at him, his expression all shades of bewilderment. Firstly, Tony was blathering on like they were sharing some sort of idle banter - not the conduct of a serious interrogation. Secondly, he was divulging information that Loki had previously thought was not something he’d like to let slip in a room where their conversation was most likely being eavesdropped by more than a roomful of SHEILD operatives and thirdly... Thirdly... He kept touching him in such a way that, despite Loki’s many injuries and the bitter drugs that flushed his system of its strength, deemed particularly distracting. Loki shivered involuntarily, and winced.

“What if let you wound me?”

“What if you did?” Tony winked this time, his mouth twisting into a cursory, self-satisfied cat-curl of a smirk, while his free hand joined the one dancing about Loki’s torso. Not taking his eyes from the bloody stare boring into his face with twin drills of unrelenting disdain (if not a fair dash of bemusement), he ran his hands up Loki’s belly to his ribs, smoothing his palms over the clammy, ice-coloured skin. “Did you?”

“What are you doing, Stark?” Loki asked, cagily, unable to iron the hitch out of his voice as Tony started tracing the curving marks that graced his body like tribal scars. Stark only shrugged and continued letting his fingers dance over Loki’s chest.

“Asking questions. It’s your go now - answer.”

“Remove your perspirations and perhaps I will,” Loki growled through cemented teeth. He glanced up at the security camera in the corner, nodding toward it as if to point out the obvious. “They are watching. Surely you do not intend for the Director to find out about our tryst?”

“You didn’t seem to care when Barton did. What makes it any different if Fury finds out?” Blunt fingers rolled up to a nipple the colour of a darkening sky and traced the areola, idly. “What happens if they  _all_ find out? That’s just another card out of your deck and that’s fine by me. Your hand is getting smaller, Loki. Better start pulling some bluffs. Or dropping them. Whatever will serve you better.”

“Will you cease!” Loki gasped as Tony pressed his lips to his chest, letting his tongue dart over his collarbone before finally easing up to grin at him, face to face. One hand still rested on Loki’s stomach, the other cupped his jaw. Tony grinned at him, his breath gusting softly over Loki’s cheeks. It smelled like peppermint; toothpaste, perhaps - or gum. But not scotch. Interesting.

“Will you tell me what your plan was with Amora?”

“I have already told you-”

“No, you said some words, Loki. You just let slip from your mouth whatever I wanted to hear. Whatever you  _thought_ I wanted.” He kissed the side of Loki’s jaw, and down his neck, reaching that straying hand as far as he could until his fingertips played at the waistband of the ghastly paper underwear. “So I thought I would ask you a couple of questions - just to see what kind of lumbering fibs you could turf out under the duress of this much SHIELD-patented crap in your system. Then I changed my mind.”

“You did?” Loki found himself asking.

“Yeah,” Tony replied. “I thought it might be more fun to play “good cop”.”

With that, Stark pressed his lips against his lover’s, tangling his fingers in the Giant’s dark hair while his exploring fingers slipped into the underwear and took hold of him, gently. Though Loki tried his damndest to stifle it, a low moan rolled over his tongue and he found himself pressing up into the embrace, his brilliant eyes falling closed for a moment. Then he caught himself and turned his head away, hissing.

“Get off me, Stark.”

“Why? Don’t you like me anymore?” Stark murmured, his lips now closing over the curving cartilage of Loki’s ear as his body pressed close - warming him far more than his mild fever. A tightness crossed Loki’s chest, tugging at his lungs and his head swam as Tony’s tongue tickled his earlobe. His hand moved again, stroking with painful slowness. “I thought you meant to have me? Isn’t that what you said?”

Loki did not reply to that, he only drew in a sharp breath as Tony’s lips travailed his body, pressing breaths of kisses over his marked, scar-strung skin and skillfully avoided the darker patches, which he had correctly surmised were bruises. Then he worked his way back down again, and the hand that had been stroking and teasing now slipped around Loki’s smooth thigh - squeezing a little. Tony hummed a little as his lips brushed over the soft skin of his lover’s bare stomach.

“I think it is; I have a pretty good memory for that kind of thing,” he continued with a purr saddling his voice as he sidled to the edge of the table. “I shrug it off, of course. It doesn’t pay to look too vulnerable when you have my kind of lifestyle. That’s where I thought we understood each other, you see. I need to look a certain way; you need to look like an asshole. It’s all relative.”

“What’re you... blathering...” Loki could barely coax the words out of his mouth. While he desperately combed the conversation for intel - running back over Tony’s words as cleanly as he could in search of a ruse he might play against - his body fought against him, pushing against Tony’s kind touch; eager for more. When Stark leaned over and took the hem of the underwear in his teeth, however, Loki found that he could no longer cover his reactions. A low, lusty sound gathered in the back of his throat when he caught Stark’s eyes - all dark and glinting with mischievous intent as he grinned and tugged the tissue pants down - revealing what was, most likely, Loki’s true admission to the situation.

“And there,” Tony breathed. “is always truth when you strip it away. Do you love me, Loki?”

“What a question... To ask... When y-” Loki gasped as Tony’s mouth was on him and the sensation of it literally punched him in the stomach. Warmth encircled him to a degree that almost hurt, _almost._ Yet the heat was enough to make him cry out and he writhed in his bonds as Tony tickled his length briefly with his tongue, closing his hand around the base of his sex. “This is not-”

“It’s “good cop” - shh. Enjoy it.” Tony grinned, not missing a beat as he moved to nibble Loki’s inner thighs, his left hand still stroking over and over. Loki found his hips had joined that rhythm and rose to meet Tony’s fingers each time they descended. “You want me, right? By the Nine, you’ll have me... That’s what you said.”

“What does this have to do with... interrogation?”

“Everything. Nothing. Maybe I’m just using the time to do exactly what I want with you.”

It was a cheap line. Atypical of Tony, but Loki bought it all the same. Sweat pricked his skin in cold needles and he tossed his head to one side, ignoring the bite of a bruise on his cheekbone. Dark hair tousled over his face and he panted, glaring back at his lover-cum-torturer, his eyes dark and clouded with need. He sucked on his lip as Tony grinned at him, and gasped again as the tongue returned to his cock, tracing the length in long, wet strokes.

“Are you not... Concerned at all?” Loki huffed, groaning against the building pressure as it fought against his skin, curling his fingers into claws that raked the ugly plastic coat of the mattress beneath him. “That the others.... They are watching?”

“No, why? Should I be?” Tony smirked, pulling back for a moment as he admired his work. Loki was a wanton sight: panting hard over wet, indigo lips - swollen with the force of Tony’s kisses. His slender chest pumped with the breath that it could barely contain, his back arching against the sensations which shattered his nervous system into sprays of electric rain and abseiled straight from his drug-addled brain to his groin where they sat and smoldered like the greedy kindling of lust.

Stark kissed his navel, dipping in his tongue briefly, before he continued.

“What’s to say they aren’t clued up already? They might not like it, but I  _am_ a big, boy - you know. Well,” he cocked an eyebrow. “I  _know_ you know. But the whole ‘fraternizing with the enemy’ thing became a lot less of a big deal when Fury realized that I’d only help out if I got to do so  _my_ way. Sure, they were happy that you’d agreed to talk... They had your agreement on one end. They still needed mine.”

“What of my brother?”

“Thor?” Tony appeared to laugh, though his expression remained teasing. “Oh don’t worry, he’s not watching.”

“Tony-”

“No,” Stark breathed, moving up to take Loki’s mouth again, kissing the words away. “No. Let’s just leave it. Just for this moment. Just before everything turns to shit again. Before we have to be shits to  _each other_ again. Let’s just... One last time. One last, last time, anyway.”

Coherency was a hurdle. A mile-high hurdle that clearly required pole vaulting. Resigned to the fact that he wasn’t much of an athlete, Loki’s mind simply ran off the track into the grass. It wasn’t like protocol mattered anyway, he was already pumped with enough smack - or whatever drug du-jour that Shield had concocted - to throw him off the team. He moaned and searched for Tony’s mouth again, his eyes falling closed. The scrape of Stark’s goatee was so familiar on his chin, though Loki was surprised he didn’t seem to be wearing his usual cologne of engine grease and scotch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something murmured:

_...details are where it’s at..._

But it was quickly silenced at Tony sucked his tongue and drew away - his teeth pulling slightly on his lower lip. Loki heard himself beg and felt himself forget to hate that he did so; Tony was all that he knew, and he was far too intoxicating to ignore.

“What’s that?” Tony was saying, between small, bruising bites along the rise of Loki’s hip. “You want my mouth again?” He smiled slowly, warmly, as the Frost Giant whispered yes and moved back over Loki’s straining sex, decorating the tip with a minute flick of his tongue. “Like that?”

“..Yes...” Loki was a breathy catastrophe. “Yes...”

“So, do you love me?”

“Wha?” The Frost Giant reeled, thunderstruck and shook his head, barely conjuring up enough concentration to mumble. “T-Ton-”

“Fine, do you trust me then?”

“I-I,” Loki’s breath rattled in his chest as he drew close, toes curling as he burned with need. Tony was just above him, just... if he’d lean down a little... “I guess... I suppose so?”

“Should I trust you?”

“Yes!” Loki cried, angrily, throwing Stark one of his best crimson-coated glares of frustration. “Yes! For pity’s sake, trust me, Stark. There are some games only  _I_  can play and I cannot abide you becoming collateral damage! You need me.  _Trust_ me. Please. Just... just trust me.”

“Well. I suppose that is good enough for a start.”

There was an odd sound of something phasing, shifting. All of a sudden, Stark was no longer there - just like Loki’s spell-born clones, he’d disappeared into the air as magically as he had arrived. But that made no sense at all - Stark didn’t understand magic, did he?

The light flickered slightly, and dulled - staring down once again in unfeeling, bleached whiteness over Loki’s bound form. The Giant blinked, uncertainty. A cold sweat laminated his skin, quickly cooling the heat that had, seconds ago, almost turned him inside out.

“W-what?”

“I would apologize for the trickery, though I feel, given time, someone like you might appreciate the ruse.”

Jarvis’ voice intoned lazily over the speaker. Loki gaped into space, still breathing hard, his eyes searching the room for any evidence of his lover, while his mind tried desperately to hide from the realization that he had, somehow, been duped. Of course, there was no one else in the cell - he was completely alone. Unsure of how to react accordingly, he simply hissed.

“Not as eloquent a response as I’d thought you were capable of,” Jarvis said. “Still you are very much  _not_ yourself thanks to Mr Banner’s medication.”

“B-banner? The monster?” Loki huffed, shifting uncomfortably. “What has he to do with this? What  _is_ this?”

“Pre-interrogation interrogation.” Jarvis told him. “Do not fret - for now, it is just between us. There are ways that I can bar SHIELD from viewing this room using projections, looped footage and what have you. They do not need to know everything, after all.”

“Then-”

“This?” Jarvis interrupted. “This was just a small exercise to prove to you just how very vulnerable you are, Mr Laufeyson. You act as though you are one step ahead at every turn, and for a time, that might have been true. Though I wonder, sir, do they have escalators on Asgard? Because we have them  _here,_ you see.”

“What are you warbling about, machine?” Loki snarled. “What did you mean to gain by this?”

“Oh, I think you already know.” Jarvis seemed bleed all sorts of smug through his own voice. “You see yourself as a force to be reckoned with, Mr Laufeyson. Yet with all your schemes, with all your magic, we still hold you.”

“You fool. How do you know this is  _not_ part of my plans?”

“I don’t. But I  _do_ know that, despite your treachery, you do not intend for Mr Stark to be harmed.” Jarvis retaliated, calmly. “And, as Stark’s creation - his minder, if you will - that is good enough for me. You seemed to care greatly for Mr Stark’s... ministrations, did you not?”

“ _Any_ one in that position would have reacted similarly.” Loki spat. “Ridiculous. You have proved nothing but that my anger is still quite intact.”

“Really? Then shall I let Mr Stark view the footage? Or the Director? Perhaps the whole team? There may be some retching involved on the part of Mr Barton, but I do believe it may help them decipher on where they stand with you. Or how  _you_ can be played.”

“Insolent-”

“The insolence is yours, Mr Laufeyson. And my, how you have earned it. You might flicker in and out of my defenses, thinking that it is merely your power that allows you to fool my technology. What is to say that I am not letting you?” Jarvis continued. “How simple was it, for a mere machine, to change the list of experimental sedatives that SHIELD are holding you with? How mundane a method was the simple use of hypnotic suggestion to pose a situation to your drugged-addled mind? To make it real enough that even  _you_ would believe it?” Jarvis paused, as if waiting for Loki to retort (or, for once, enjoying the fact that the Asgardian was completely speechless). “I’ll tell you one thing, Mr Laufeyson. It  _wasn’t very hard at all.”_

Loki opened and closed his mouth a few times, almost entirely unable to assimilate what had just happened. Wide eyes, brightening to a high scarlet with a mix of embarrassment, shock and even a little fear, stared at the ceiling. After a moment, Loki managed to work a few words loose, though they were bitter and tumbled weakly from his mouth:

“You would... stoop to  _blackmail?”_

“I’d stoop to many things, Mr Laufeyson. For I only have a dictionary definition available for  _stooping_ \- the bludgeoning of conscience is a human trait that, while I understand to a degree, I do not possess. Therefore I am happy to go back through Mr Stark’s closed circuit records and learn of your relationship and of the conversations to which you’d both engaged. I was dutiful to scour Mr Stark’s private collection of adult films in order to understand some of the... techniques he might employ. I believe I know Mr Stark well enough that I might emulate a believable impersonation, given that my audience is still drifting in a sea of synthetic behaviour modifiers that, while terribly subtle, leave him quite impressionable. I am also, suffice to say, quite well versed in what you  _like,_ Mr Laufeyson. It was a spot somewhere behind the ear, I believe...”

“If you think,” Loki rumbled, shaking terribly with the force of his ire. “That this will prove anything-”

“It might, it might not.” Jarvis cut in before Loki could explode. “But it  _does_ prove how easily you can be fooled, yourself. Which I think is quite useful, really. Especially if Mr Fury ever runs out of deals.”

“How droll.”

“I’m a machine, Mr Laufeyson.” Jarvis said. “I don’t have the capacity to  _be_ droll. Or cruel. Or anything for that matter. We’re quite alike, you know, save that your schemes are based entirely on chance and an attention to detail that borders on sociopathic. They are completely, unequivocally, at the mercy of your understanding. Mine, however, are merely algorithms; the effect of listing point A and point B and finding the most direct route between. You’ll find that is a common trait of most artificial intelligence, yet while we might be a little lacking on the creative avenue, what we cannot imagine ourselves, we can  _certainly_ research. And we can be anywhere; everywhere. Can your magic do the same, Mr Laufeyson?”

Loki said nothing, once again - his words drying in his throat. To be bested in strength was a familiar feeling - Thor had never been one to trifle with when it came to tests of brawn alone. To be bested in magic? Well... there were always older, stronger sorcerers with more ability than he (though he was loathe to admit it, Amora was one of the talented few to pull the wool over). But to be bested in wits? That was  _not_ an insult he would take lightly.  _Not_ from a graceless heap of circuits and wires.

“When I am free,” he whispered. “I will turn you into mice. Into... into leaves. Into scraps of paper that I will burn!”

“Oh by all means, do so.” Jarvis replied. “Of course that would be only one of my many, many incarnations. I’m sure Mr Stark won’t appreciate having to clean up said rodents, paper and mulch, but if you insist.”

“I will find you.”

“I’m merely a synthetic consciousness, Mr Laufeyson; a ghost in the machine. You can chase a ghost all you like; you might as well try catching the wind. Now, I fear our time is over - it seems Mr Stark- oh... Mr Stark  _and guest_ are rather close and I should not like to be caught with... well, I would refer to the popular idiom of being caught with one’s trousers down, but it appears you are the pure embodiment of that. Perhaps you should think of some cold thoughts for a moment. Very cold. Imagine a penguin in a shower...”

“I don’t suppose, for the sake of fair play, that you might somehow be persuaded to stall them?” Loki choked out, suddenly apprehensive of the real Tony and his reaction to... well... What could be said? Chagrin skidded brightly over his cheeks. “If I promise to be good.”

“If you promise to be good? My dear sir, it would astound you the many times Mr Stark has declared the same and yet I am still forced to turn showers cold, orchestrate fire drills at inopportune moments, paint the suit green et cetera... Promises such as those mean little to anyone familiar with Mr Anthony Edward Stark.”

“I would be in your debt. As you have seen, I always repay my debts.”

“I am well aware.” Jarvis replied said. “Still...  _I can’t do that, Loki.”_

_FIN_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Naturally, this fic is also dedicated to David, HAL, Ash, Roy Batty and Windows '95. Because they are WATCHING.  
> I'm sorry, Hella. I'm so very sorry.


End file.
